


chip on your shoulder

by wyverning



Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Antagonism, Banter, Hatesex, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Neil is a Little Shit, Raven!Andrew, Raven!Neil, a little darker than i usually write, all ravens need therapy, fast and dirty, more foreplay than actual sex, no time for emotions, only bruising kisses and vicious blowjobs, riko sucks as per usual, threats as foreplay, unhealthy sexual behaviors, vague mentions of canon-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: “The fucking mouth on you,” Minyard says, like it’s at all a surprise that Nathaniel doesn’t know how to shut up. “I hate you. You’re only bearable when my dick’s shoved down your throat.”
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946149
Comments: 7
Kudos: 198





	chip on your shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> day 1: shower/bath sex | **hate sex** | lactation | role reversal
> 
> whew lads looks like i'm trying out kinktober again this year. i'm probably gonna doxx myself with all of the kinks i write but that's what october's for, baybee
> 
> today's prompt means you get to have a little raven!andreil and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a treat
> 
> please read tags, this is definitely a bit on the darker side (because every raven is fucked up, and imagining a world where neil never got to _be_ neil and andrew had to make even worse sacrifices for his family than he does in canon doesn't exactly mean sunshine and roses)
> 
> also, i know i have wips to work on please do not @ me and my covid hellbrain

Practice ends with Riko cursing out one of the dealer subs, vicious Japanese cutting through the air as the rest of them watch, and for once, Nathaniel’s eager to get off the court. He’s tired, muscles burning something fierce in the way that means it’ll be hard to move tomorrow morning.

It’s the casual cruelty all of the Ravens have learned to adopt: the satisfied feeling of knowing that they’ve managed to escape Riko’s explosive anger for the day. That someone else will take the brunt of his biting reprimands and bony knuckles.

Nathaniel doesn’t bother to interrupt as he swings his exy stick over his shoulder, instead shooting a quick gaze in Minyard’s direction as he heads toward the plexiglass door. Minyard, predictably, doesn’t do much, though Nathaniel does manage to catch the glint of his hazel eyes before they’re shadowed again by his goalie helmet.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” Riko says, loud and sharp, and Nathaniel stills even as something begins to simmer in his veins.

“Practice is over,” he responds. From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel sees Kevin flinch.

Beneath all that casual cruelty, Nathaniel knows, the Ravens are just cowards.

Riko makes a displeased noise and turns his attention away from Jenkins. “You will stay until I dismiss you.”

They’ve spent years trying to break Nathaniel. The scars across his body are a testament to that, and yet...

And yet. the underlying threat in Riko’s voice still hasn’t quite managed it.

“Then,” Nathaniel says slowly, turning on his heel to meet Riko’s gaze. “Dismiss us. Practice is over.”

It isn’t until Riko lunges forward, anger and the blatant desire to punish flashing across his face, that Minyard moves from goal. It’s a slow prowl, reminiscent of a jungle cat stalking its prey. It’s almost comical how little Riko realizes tbat he’s not the predator here.

“You heard him,” Minyard says carelessly, like he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. For someone so short, it’s impressive how quickly he clears the field. “Dismiss us.”

None of the other Ravens on the court dare interfere with this quiet challenge. The mere thought of commanding Riko to do anything he doesn’t want to usually ends up with the sting of antiseptic and a needle tugging through torn flesh, and they’re far too afraid of how this little interaction will end. But Nathaniel’s been pushing boundaries with Riko since Jean showed up last week with an awful split lip and a refusal to meet anyone’s gaze.

This time, though, he’s not alone.

Tension in the air is so thick it’s almost palpable, but finally, Riko narrows his eyes and says, in a clipped tone, “Practice is over. Get out of here.”

It’s like flipping a switch: suddenly, the stampede of black-and-red-clad feet thunder past Nathaniel, echoed by a, “Yes, sir!”

Nathaniel follows after them before Riko can reach him, and can’t help the nearly-giddy feeling of pulling on over on the youngest Moriyama son. He may not have much autonomy over his life, but fuck if the rest of the Ravens ever start to think that Nathaniel _chose_ this path. They’ll do well to understand that Exy is his life, but being sold to the Moriyamas is different than the contracts they’ve all signed willingly.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Kevin hisses as they march toward the locker room. It’s nothing Nathaniel hasn’t heard before, and he says as much, bumping Kevin’s shoulder harder than is strictly necessary as he moves to slot his stick back into his locker.

“Okay,” Kevin tries, that bizarre, constant mixture of fear and anger ringing through his words. “What about this: you’re going to get _us_ killed.”

“Nah,” Nathaniel says, stripping off his jersey and undershirt. “It’s not as much fun playing with a dead thing. Even an idiot like Riko knows that.”

Kevin’s eyes catch on the bandage taped onto Nathaniel’s side. It’s healing well, but practice had ripped open a stitch or two and Nathaniel can feel the dull throb of it now that his adrenaline from running has faded. It’s a reminder of what Riko’s capable of, and gives weight to the tense line of Kevin’s shoulders.

“Kevin,” Nathaniel says. The word isn’t soft — they’re not _capable_ of softness and niceness and the things that families who don’t sell their children are — but it’s quieter than his flippant tone from before. “I can’t just let him win. And it’s not like he can touch me anymore.”

Disbelief flickers on Kevin’s face, but he doesn’t say anything else, just slams his locker shut, towel in hand, and heads toward the communal showers.

Nathaniel’s barely out of the locker room and on his way to the Nest when he’s slammed into one of the corridor walls. The air in his lungs wheezes out of him, and there’s a split-second, instinctive reaction to _fight back, run, escape_ before he sees the curl of blond hair.

“Hello to you, too,” he gasps after he catches his breath, and Minyard cuts a condescending gaze toward him, fist clenching in Nathaniel’s shirt.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Minyard says, and Nathaniel’s about to agree with him before he’s interrupted by lips and teeth and a bruising kiss that conveys Minyard’s frustration _much_ more efficiently than words ever could. Minyard bears down on him, their teeth clicking painfully against each other. His teeth are sharp, and Nathaniel feels a stinging pain before the unmistakable blood mingles with their tongues. It's messy and graceless and perfect.

Nathaniel indulges the kiss for a heartbeat before shoving him away, already caught-up but unwilling to cede defeat so easily. 

“You could take me on a date first,” Nathaniel says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Minyard looks, for the briefest moment, like he’s torn between kissing Nathaniel again and stabbing him. It sends a thrill down Nathaniel’s spine, and he settles against the wall like it’s a comfortable bed and not a black-painted monstrosity of a hallway.

“The labyrinthine halls of our prison aren’t romantic enough?”

Nathaniel shrugs before looking pointedly down at the conspicuous tent in Minyard’s post-practice sweats. “Well, it’s clearly good enough for _you_. Not all of us have such awful taste, though.” 

“The fucking mouth on you,” Minyard says, like it’s at all a surprise that Nathaniel doesn’t know how to shut up. “I hate you. You’re only bearable when my dick’s shoved down your throat.”

The blatant, truthful declaration of hatred shouldn’t turn Nathaniel on so much, but he can’t help it. A sharp shiver of arousal runs through him. 

“You never said I had to shut up in order to do this,” Nathaniel teases, going so far as to pull his lower lip in between his teeth. Minyard’s eyes track it like it’s an exy ball in play, hurtling toward his goal. The kind of single-minded focus someone could get used to.

“Our deal,” Andrew says, bearing down on Nathaniel and slotting a thick, firm thigh between Nathaniel’s leg, “involves you _not_ antagonizing him.”

Nathaniel can’t resist that, and grinds down on the firm pressure. It elicits a low groan from them both, and he privately thinks that if _this_ is the kind of welcome he gets for instigating a fight with Riko, then it’s well worth it. 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Nathaniel says breathily. A haze settles over him like it always does when he and Minyard are engaged in these — encounters — and he offers a sloppy grin. “You only mentioned him touching me.”

“I said,” Minyard murmurs, breathing hotly against Nathaniel’s neck, “that I can only watch your back _before_ there’s a physical altercation. All bets are off once he gets his hands on you.”

“That’s not fair,” Nathaniel protests with a vicious smile. “Don’t want me if he’s gotten there first?”

The hand that had been clutching his clothing slides up until calloused fingers are pressing against the delicate skin of his throat. Nathaniel swallows, and Minyard’s grip tightens dangerously. Tantalizingly.

“Enough,” he says, swiping a finger over Nathaniel’s cheekbone, where he knows the ink of his tattoo is. “I’m tired of listening to you.”

“Four out of ten for your seduction technique,” Nathaniel says, or tries to say. He’s interrupted when Andrew shoves him to his knees, the sharp pain of impact on the ground radiating through his legs, and his words cut off with a gasp that’s only partially from the ache in his kneecaps.

Suddenly, Nathaniel can’t remember what he was about to say. He’s eye-level with Andrew’s dick, even through the thin sweatpants, and it’s a pretty blatant invitation.

Still:

“This okay?” he asks, just the once. Navigating boundaries when you’ve only got ten minutes for a quick fuck had been a challenge, at first, but they’ve negotiated _some_ semblance of consent in this hellhole.

Minyard nods, short and jerky, before fisting a hand in Nathaniel’s hair meaningfully.

Nathaniel takes the hint, and there’s nothing sweet about the way he tugs Minyard’s dick out from his sweats and wraps hot, chapped lips around it. In the Nest, there’s no time for anything but this: fast and dirty, hidden away and taking advantage of the few snatches of free time they actually get.

It’s just a way to blow off some steam in a manner that’s far more desirable than the violence Riko prefers: Nathaniel’s not delusional enough to think that Minyard actually _likes_ him. Hell, he’s not even fond of the guy himself outside of what he can do with his fingers and tongue. 

Well, he’s a great goalie, too, but if Nathaniel thinks too hard about exy right now, he’s pretty sure Minyard will leave him hard and wanting to go jerk off alone.

Anyway, this is exactly what Nathaniel needs. An act of defiance, a way to flaunt Riko’s rules and punishments. The cock in his mouth, filling him to the point of drooling around its girth, is a plus, too.

They’re both too keyed up from the near-altercation with Riko to last long. Nathaniel knows better than to touch, his palms fisted on top of his thighs as he sucks Minyard down, though he enjoys the pleasure-pain of Minyard’s hands against his scalp. His blunted nails scratch hard enough that Nathaniel’s sure they’re leaving marks, and he can’t help but revel in how good it feels.

Minyard shivers. He’s often quiet during these moments, restrained even in such a vulnerable position, but Nathaniel knows it’s nothing personal. Knows he’s more than capable of bringing Minyard to the brink and then pushing him over, that any lapse in control is — not quite a gift, but something close.

Nathaniel’s jaw starts to ache, but it’s a pleasant burn, and he hums around the all-consuming weight on his tongue.

“Neil,” Minyard grits out, just before he thrusts his hips in a sporadic way that means he’s close. It pushes his cock further into Nathaniel’s throat, and the combination of _Neil —_ a nickname, something that will never be quite real — and the weight has Nathaniel gagging, eyes watering with the overstimulation.

It’s good. It’s better than good.

This only ever happens when they’re close, this exchange of first names like they actually _mean_ something to one another and aren’t just two awful people caught up in a shitty minefield of hate and competition and blood. For a second, though, the quickest heartbeat, Nathaniel feels like he could actually be something.

Minyard comes a few moments later with a quiet, barely-there grunt of gratification. Nathaniel swallows — it’s easier than dealing with the mess of jizz on his face, and besides, he thrills in how dirty it feels — and indulges in its salty, bitter taste. Just like them.

When Minyard shoves at his shoulder to give himself some space, Nathaniel’s own cock throbs with the demand for similar release. He curls in on himself, heedless of the way his knees ache against the unforgiving concrete of the Nest, and withdraws his own cock to strip it with determination. He manages a few tight, quick motions before a hand knocks his own away, and Nathaniel sucks down a huge breath as Minyard takes over.

“Andrew,” Nathaniel moans quietly, muscles taut as that calloused hand works him relentlessly, in just the way he likes. That goddamn eidetic memory. “Fuck. _Shit—”_

Nathaniel knows Minyard hates him. He can feel it with each pump of his fist, raw and bitter and like wringing an orgasm out of him is the only way to one-up him in the constant competition of their lives. But there’s a thin line between pleasure and pain, at least for Ravens like them, and Nathaniel comes so hard it’s a full-body experience, his vision whiting out and his entire world narrowing until all he can smell, think, _taste_ is Andrew Minyard.

It doesn’t last, of course. Nothing between them ever does.

“You could always kill him,” Nathaniel says, after his heartbeat returns to something marginally close to normal.

Minyard sucks on his teeth before running a hand through his tousled hair. He looks disheveled, but not as much as Nathaniel feels. “That’s my leverage. He knows I have nothing to lose.”

It’s more honesty than Nathaniel had been expecting, and he files it away thoughtfully. “High risk, high reward, I suppose.”

“Unlike you,” Minyard says, though there’s a sparkle of amusement in his gaze that Nathaniel would have missed had he been anyone else. “You’re just a fucking idiot who can run fast.”

He’s also the son of the Butcher, which doesn’t mean much but is enough to keep him alive even after Riko’s more adventurous torture sessions. But Minyard doesn’t know what Nathaniel does: that every failed attempt to break him only spurs Riko on to greater heights and riskier punishments.

The half-assed deal Nathaniel had brokered with Minyard doesn’t really mean shit. Minyard thinks Riko’s afraid of him, but Nathaniel knows it’s just another game, a temporary stop-gap while Riko learns to navigate the five-foot-nothing feral beast of a goalie he’d insisted upon recruiting to the Ravens.

It’s only a matter of time before one of them snaps, and Nathaniel isn’t optimistic about the outcome. His odds aren’t great. They’ve never been great. But Nathaniel’s been a dead man walking since the day he turned ten, and he’ll take what he can get.

**Author's Note:**

> and then after a long and hard-fought struggle for power, they executed a coup and escaped the ravens with kevin and jean and lived happily ever after. the end
> 
> please come shitpost with me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/wyverning)


End file.
